The More Things Change
by Mighty Mega
Summary: An AU where everyone lives but somehow nothing really changes. A series of one-shots set in the same universe about whatever I feel like writing. Rated T for anything more gruesome that may or may not go up.
1. The More Things Change

Title: The More Things Change

Summary: Makino has Ace and Luffy's wanted posters hanging in her bar

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters

* * *

More often than not, the man pushing through the swinging doors or the one sitting on the third chair from the wall is a new face. She doesn't get many regulars anymore, but ever since two years ago there's been a lot more sailors docking for supplies, and somedays she even finds it hard to keep up.

It's different than it was those two years ago, different still from those twelve years ago, and while she'll glance wistfully at the carefully framed portrait of three smiling boys, all piled on top of each other, she still finds she's enjoying this new turn life has taken.

Even if it is different, she'll sometimes think, it really is still the same.

And then she'll turn back to her latest costumer and as she serves his drink, maybe he'll ask, they yours, or maybe he won't, but either way, she'll smile fondly and go about her day.

One day, after those two years that made everything different but didn't really change anything, a group of pirates swagger into her bar. She's been expecting this, is surprised it hadn't happened sooner, but she's not scared, not of this.

The leader saunters right up to the bar, a confident smirk stretched across his face, and slams a scuffed brown boot down onto the stool in front of him. He expects her to be nervous, she's sure, to cower and stammer her way through taking his order, and perhaps, even let them leave without asking for payment, like their payment is sparing her life.

As she approaches the man from behind the bar, all smiles and practiced confidence, she silently laments the fear that has crossed the faces of all her other patrons. Business would be slowing down for a while.

She's right in front of him now, still holding that relaxed professionalism as she asks what he and his friends would like. There's no rush or strain, nothing about her easily casual demeanor to suggest this is anything but a normal day, that he is anything more or less than her usual kind of customer.

While she's waiting for him to answer her, she nearly revels in the astonishment slowly forming across his features. This has never happened to him, she knows, because this is the East Blue, the safest and the weakest of any ocean, and had she been anyone else, the same could be said about her.

After the disbelief he gets angry. It takes his face and twists it into something feral and ugly, until he's less of a man and more of a beast. Still, she waits patiently, hands folded around a note pad, pleasant smile as radiant as when she donned it, and kind eyes steady on those of her latest customer.

He looks about ready to start something, ready to reach past the minimal protection the bar itself provides and throttle her, show her exactly why women like her never last long. But he doesn't, because he can't, because the moment he makes to grab her something catches his eye, and all of a sudden it's like his mind and body are two separate entities and he doesn't have control of either.

There's a picture behind the bar, a little off to the side, featuring three little kids all in a pile, and suddenly there's an absolute feeling of dread creeping up his spine and filling him until that's all he can feel. The picture by itself means nothing, he doesn't recognize those kids, shouldn't, but there's something else there that makes it impossible not to break out into a cold sweat, not to feel all the blood draining from his face as he takes a shaky step back.

Next to that framed photo are wanted posters. Just two, but that kid with the scar under his left eye and straw hat perched firmly on his head cannot be mistaken for anyone else, not when his posters right there and the similarities even after years of difference are impossible to ignore. Not when the dark haired boy with a face full of freckles has that same slight smirk and slanted eyes as the man on the other poster.

He's backing out of the bar without even looking at the numbers, without another word, pushing through his men to get away from this place and off this island as quickly as he can because it's impossible to _not_ recognize those posters, not after two years ago. That woman though, he now realizes, his mind to frantic to really prioritize what it should be thinking, is not someone to mess with, if she knew those two that young. He wonders how someone like her could possibly exist in an ocean like East Blue.

When he flees, she still has that pleasant smile, though her eyes perhaps hold something close to fondness for those willing to look. Just as they always have, those boys mean everything.

* * *

Well, this is the first in what I hope with be a long going collection. I haven't written anything outside of school in a long time, so feed back is very much appreciated. Any requests will also be fulfilled to the best of my ability.

Thanks for reading


	2. Aches

Title: Aches

Summary: Luffy doesn't notice how much of his life is filled with Ace until he's gone.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of its characters

* * *

At first he doesn't really understand why eating meat right off the bone or climbing trees or any number of other things he used to love now make his scar ache and remind him of sticky too hot blood coating his hands. He still does them of course, because he loves them and he loves his crew, and since he's the captain he can't let his crew worry about him, not when they all have their own scars.

Their happiness is the most important thing, he decides, and so he still does all the things he used to love but now make his scar ache and his hands drip blood.

For a long time fire and freckles and dark haired older brothers make his heart clench with everything he's lost at the same time it reminds him of everything he still has, but in time, the pain fades, because he knows there's no use in thinking about the past, no use remembering something that doesn't matter anymore. So after fire and freckles and dark haired older brothers stop reminding him, he doesn't understand why everything still hurts so much.

* * *

He's running from the angry owner of the diner he just dashed from when he realizes his chest hurts and his hands are running red, and as he takes a quick turn onto a crowded street he can't help but think, _It's all my fault_.

Just as quickly as it comes though, he stamps it out, _No, it wasn't. There was nothing I could do._

He knows there's nothing to be guilty about, he's been told so a million times, and he believes it, he really does. So why can he still feel it burning in his chest? He's supposed to be over this, he thought he was. So _why_? Why did it still hurt? Why couldn't he just believe it when someone said it _wasn't his fault_?

Slowing to a stop, he stands in the middle of the street, wide brimmed hat shadowing his eyes. The crowd parts around him, perhaps recognizing him, maybe unconsciously avoiding the pain and confusion he seems to radiate. Either way, the world fades away and suddenly it's just him and that awful ache that should be long gone.

 _It should have been me_. That nagging voice is back, and even if it's true he still tries. _He wanted me to live._

He's sure of that, at least. Sure that the one he sees in fire and freckles and dark haired older brothers wouldn't have done _that_ if he hadn't meant to save. It still doesn't detract from the original point though, no matter how much he wishes it would. Even if he wanted him to live, _he did, there was no doubt_ , it still couldn't stop him from realizing he _shouldn't have._

 _He wanted me to live,_ he repeats, like that will somehow make it truer than the other truth. _There was nothing I could have done._

He tenses suddenly at that, because even if the first one is true, and he doesn't think he could take it if it wasn't, the second one is also true. True in a way that makes the aching worse, makes him think he can feel the pressure of tears behind his eyes, if only there were any left to shed.

It's true, but it shouldn't have been.

 _I was too weak,_ he thinks, and there's no refuting it because _that's what the training was for._ That also is true. That event showed him he wasn't strong enough, there was nothing he could do, but now he can.

 _I couldn't when it mattered._ And that also is true, but it seems to sting less than thoughts of _he shouldn't have, he didn't have too, he did even though it defeated the entire purpose of going._ So he goes with it, because even if he should have been strong enough when it made a difference, at least it was something he could fix. Now, he is strong enough. Even though he couldn't then, he can now. _That_ will never happen again, he'll make sure it won't.

But it still doesn't seem to be enough. He still can't shake the cloud of guilt thickening overhead, but he thinks at this point trying might just make it worse. Like he's trying to forget _him_. So instead he does another thing he should have gotten over long ago.

He remembers the promise he made. Maybe not in the way promises usually are, but said with all the conviction of one. _I'll save you even if it kills me._ It almost happens.

He remembers holding him in his arms, his vision blurred by sweat and tears and exhaustion that should have long since stopped him. He holds him and denies. He's fine, he tells himself, he's going to be okay, there's no way he'd die like this, not after everything else. And he almost believes it, until he looks down at his hands and sees how _red_ they are, covered in blood he knows isn't his, blood that no amount of wishing will make his.

He's gone. But he knew that already. It's different now though, he's sure it is. He just doesn't know how. He can't forget though, can't just brush this all aside and pretend it doesn't matter anymore because it _does_.

It's then he realizes why everything makes his scar ache and his hands run red and reminds him of fire and freckles and dark haired older brothers. It's then he knows why every time he's told himself it's in the past, it just feels like an excuse.

* * *

I know it's pretty OOC, but I like to think this is something even someone like Luffy would need a while to work with. Unfortunately, it does pretty much ignore everything I know about Straw Hat Logic, but when I really thought about it, that has more to do with faith in the abilities of your Nakama or things having to do with possibility than it does with dealing with grief.

Also sorry if my insistence on the pronoun game was kind of confusing for this one, not all of them are going to be like this I swear.

Anyway, any feed back on this would very much appreciated. I'm not all that good at writing angst and I don't have a whole lot of practice, so I'm not really sure how this turned out.


	3. Cat Burglar

Title: Cat Burglar

Summary: The first slow day Nami's had in a long time, and some old habits are too tempting not to indulge.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of its characters

Note: HA! I told you not all of them would play the pronoun game. Also, my hand at humor. I feel like the longer I spent writing this the lazier I got with it.

* * *

One day, the Thousand Sunny finds herself docked at some island in the New World, her crew scattered about, enjoying the brief moments of peace they've been able to catch. Nami in particular is taking full advantage, strolling leisurely down the main street with several bags worth of purchases following eagerly behind her. It's nice, she thinks, taking a moment to appreciate her surroundings. The small, homely buildings lined along the street, the wide variety of stores, unused to her particular brand of haggling, but best of all, the friendly, unconcerned interactions of the people.

It's definitely a refreshing change, to be able to wander an island freely without having to worry about someone calling the marines. With a deep breath and a satisfied smile, Nami tells Sanji to take her new purchases back to Sunny and get anything he needs. He agrees happily of course, and despite his more perverted tendencies, Nami can't help but be grateful at least _one_ of her idiots doesn't need looking after every second.

After he's gone, she goes back to wandering, peering into street side shops with no intention of buying. The air is salty around her, as it has been her entire life, but the ground is solid, as it hasn't been for some time, and while it's a change less pleasant than the peace, it's not unpleasant either, so she takes it for what it is and continues on.

The stone grey streets contrast nicely with the brightly painted buildings, she notes absently, not really focused on anything. Nami can't remember the last time she's just been able to forget her surrounding like this. Between navigating the treacherous waters of the Grandline, especially now that they'd entered the New World, and keeping track of idiots, there haven't been a lot of chances for down time like this. She'd easily taken advantage though, first by ensuring Robin would be able to take over as the self-designated (but entirely necessary) babysitter, and then by spending a few carefully counted Belly on some new outfits.

Taking in the scenery, it's not hard to tune out the rest of the world. That is until Nami comes across something she, in all her infinite wisdom, can't turn away from. At first glance, the man is stupidly drunk, stumbling down the road in a way that almost guarantees he bumps into everyone. But Nami knows better. How can she not when she's seen this kind of thing before, done this kind of thing. She'd never degrade herself like this of course, but bars always had the easiest targets.

Without missing a step, Nami makes as big a show of peering into the shops as she can without being a dead giveaway, making sure to show off her still rather heavy purse in the process. Even if she wasn't going to buy anything more, store owners were always more helpful when they _thought_ she might. A wide, trusting smile is plastered across her face, and she pays special attention to make it look like she's not. In essence, an easy target.

The man bumps into her a few steps later, a grasping hand making uncertain contact with her shoulder to hold him up. Nami lets out a little gasp as she's knocked into, her eyes going wide with feigned surprise and her hands coming up to steady the man. Her hip becomes noticeably lighter, and in the split second before she's pushing him upright again, she lets a smirk slip onto her face.

"Are you alright?" She sounds concerned, eyebrows knitting with her scrunched forehead. As soon as she's sure he's not going to tip over again, her hands leave his shoulders and brush imperceptibly over his coat.

He sways for a beat, playing up the act, before slurring out, "'nks, m'fne," and shambling further down the road.

Nami watches him go off with a helpful smile, lips curling up in the self-satisfied kind of way they do when she knows her latest victim's played right into her hands. She only takes another moment to watch him continue before she turns back to her original path, this time a little spring in her step, her purse fastened securely to her hip as it surely had been the entire time. And if her wrists seemed to be adorned by a few new bracelets and her purse sagged a little more heavily on her belt, well, who's to say they hadn't always.

* * *

Several hours later, it's close to dinner, and the crew had eagerly gathered back at the Sunny for one of Sanji's delicious meals. The crew is up to their usual antics, but it's hard not to notice how lenient Nami has been tonight, especially when normal behavior warrants strangely missing punches that hurt mare than they should.

Sanji is just happy that Nami is happy, and while it's not as if the others don't feel the same, Zoro can only glance suspiciously from his napping spot and feel sorry for the poor sap she surely ripped off. Or at least until he realizes it could have been him, if not the stranger, and slips into his after dinner nap strangely at peace.

* * *

Also around that time, a scruffy looking man in a coat too thick for the weather and a gritty face walks into his apartment, more than satisfied with the way his day turned out. This small island didn't get tourists very often, located in the New World as it was, but also because it didn't hold anything important enough to warrant many visitors, marine, pirate, or civilian.

He took off his coat and spread it out on his bed, revealing the inner pockets within which would be that day's spoils. That girl had been a real catch, in more ways than one. She'd been perfect, he thinks, with her long orange hair, large brown eyes, and well-proportioned body. If he hadn't been so worried about getting caught, he definitely would have liked to spend more time with her. Well, at least she had a decent amount of coin on her. He smirks at that, her wide eyed wonder and complete lack of caution were easy indicators of a young girl's first trip into the real world.

Getting back to his earnings, he reaches into one of the inner pockets, the one where her purse should be resting. His hand freezes when it passes over the old material and his eyes widen in disbelief. No. No, it was there he was sure. His hands quickly move to the other hidden pockets in a blur of motion, his searching hands making dull thuds where they strike the bed.

It was all gone.

* * *

Well anyway there's that. Updates are probably going to be coming later and later from now on. Schools started up and I'm gonna get real busy, real quick, so bare with me.

But seriously, thanks to **Vanimelde Melindel** for writing a review. I'm glad you like it c:

You know you don't necessarily have to have anything constructive to say. Just a "good job" or a "Hey, I liked that" is fine. I don't have anything against negative comments either, but if your going to write one at least have something specific in mind you didn't like so I know to fix it.

And now I just sound desperate for comments. I am, actually. Seriously. They really motivate me, it's nice to know these aren't just floating in space.


	4. Something Gained

Title: Something Gained

Summary: There's something strange about that forest, Sabo can feel it, but it's hardly enough to make him risk his life.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of its characters.

Note: I'm drowning in homework. Drowning in it. Someone please save me.

* * *

Sometimes, when Sabo is visiting the Grey Terminal, he'll glance toward the bordering forest of Mt. Corvo. He's not sure why, for the most part, but he can't help but feel something important lies behind its thick shadows. It's his first visit that he realizes there's something off about it, but he brushes it off, because even as young as he is (only four), he's heard the rumors of that mountain and the jungle that surrounds it, and the idea of getting anywhere near it, no matter what his gut tells him, is enough to make his stomach turn.

He instead lets himself be caught up in the fantastic stories weaved by the Terminal's inhabitants. He doesn't worry about truth or embellishment, only the sense of wonder and freedom they bring him, something he's never had, growing up in High Town. They warn him of course, when he first gets there. A child like him shouldn't be running around a place like the Terminal, especially a noble, but it doesn't stop him, because he's there for that very reason, for the freedom inherent in a lawless zone.

The mystery, he thinks, is what drew him in, and the stories are what made him come back. It doesn't really matter that it's dangerous, and when he's older he forgets whether it's because he was too young to know what danger was, or he was too desperate for freedom to care. Either way, his visits to the Terminal become a part of his life, and soon the regulars and permanents realize he's not listening and just indulge him. It's a change from the usual for them too, at least, having such a bright and starry eyed kid around to boast to.

It's not until he's been back enough that he's already learned everyone's names that he spares the mountain another glance. This time though, he thinks he may have caught a glimpse of something beyond the trees. It's impossible to tell what it is, if there was anything at all to begin with, so he brushes it off and promises himself to ask someone next time.

Except next time he doesn't really get the chance. He's staring off at the mountain again when one of the older fellows catches him and is quick to turn him away.

"That mountain is dangerous you know," he says, matter of fact, warning as much as it is scolding. "I don't know what you're planning," he continues, "but I'd drop it right now. Only bandits and monsters live on that mountain." He turns away, his piece said, but scoffs with a quick, humorless laugh, "Sometimes don't know which is worse," more for himself than for Sabo, though he hears it all the same.

It makes sense, he thinks. No one's ever gone past the barriers the trees create before, at least not while he's been here, and even the books he's read on this islands history while at home have only ever mentioned the dark and harsh nature of Mt. Corvo. That should be the end of it, and it almost is, but then he remembers the shape he might have seen and the pulling in his gut that tells him something _important_ is in there. His resolve strengthens, and he hurries home to pack his bags.

* * *

There's a mess spread out around him. His backpack is empty, but there's food, changes of clothing, a bed role, and even basic toiletries loosely organized in a circle with him in the center. More than anything he wants to get this right, even if he is only five, even if he is noble, even if it is Mt. Corvo. Sabo's going to be prepared, he'll make sure of it.

It's nearing his bed time now, but Sabo's sure his parents won't mind if he stays up just a little bit late. This is important after all, and even if it's hard for them to show it he's sure they love him. No matter what, he doesn't want to make them worry. Soon he loses track of time, sorting between what to bring and how much, falling asleep on the floor in the middle of packing an extra set of clothes.

The next morning, his mother walks into his room to wake him up only to be met with the worst possible sight she can imagine. Next to her family losing status, or the princess refusing to marry Sabo, or committing a faux pas. Well, the idea is there. _Anyway_ , she'd only come in to check on her precious son to see if he was studying hard like a good little boy and what does she find? Her ungrateful brat, sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by practically all of his belongings, some food he somehow snatched from the kitchen, and a _backpack_ of all things, like he was going to run away.

She just stares for a moment, unable to really process what's going on right in front of her, but when she does. Oh, when she does there's an indignant shriek loud enough to wake the dead. It's more than enough to make Sabo bolt upright from his spot on the floor. Still sleepy, he just sits for a moment, yawning with a hand rubbing at his eye. When his eyes come back into focus and Sabo can make out the figure of his mother standing in the door way, it's all he can do not to flinch away from her wide, horrified eyes and gaping mouth.

The pair just stare at each other for a while, but then Sabo opens his mouth to speak, to ask why his mother looks so _angry_ , and then she's a blur of motion. She snatches Sabo up by his suspenders and puts her face right in his to whisper with all the contained fury of a woman protecting what's most important to her.

"Just _what_ do you think you're doing." It's not a question, not even close, and even as young as he is Sabo couldn't miss that look in the woman's eyes. He stays silent, for better or worse, too terrified to do anything else.

She holds him there for a moment longer, but when it becomes clear neither of them is going to say anything, she drops him and stomps out of the room. Sabo can only sit there, even long after she's gone. He doesn't leave the house again for some time.

It takes him several months, but eventually life pretty much goes back to normal. He doesn't go back to the Gray Terminal again, and the idea of searching the forest has fled almost entirely. His mother's anger still rattles him sometimes, but now he's pretty sure it was just because she was worried. It must have been pretty obvious what he was planning, he thinks, and she didn't want him to get hurt. So he forgives her, and he does his best to be the son she seems to want. As long as he never has to see that look on her face again. As long as he doesn't make her worry.

Instead, he spends his time studying. It's not so bad, a lot of the subjects are really interesting, and even if the tutor can be kind of mean he does help Sabo learn faster. But right now he's working on something else, something more personal. Bent over his desk, Sabo is scribbling away at a piece of paper, smiling brightly at the thought of the final project.

Switching between black and a peachy skin color as needed, his tongue pokes out between his lips slightly in unconscious concentration. Slowly, carefully, he writes out "Dad" across the top of his drawing, making sure to get every line as steady as he can make it. When it's finished he leans back with a triumphant smile stretched wide across his face. Now to give it to his father.

Walking quickly down the hall, it saddens him that this is even necessary. He'd been hoping to have more time to work on his drawing before making this, but even Sabo has noticed that work has been taking a lot out of his father lately, so he thinks maybe now is a better time, even if his picture doesn't look as good as the paintings in the halls. His father's in his office, Sabo's sure, he always is this time of day.

When he gets there, he can hear the slam of a Den Den Mushi and a frustrated sigh from beyond the door. His wide smile has dropped by this point, but he quickly puts it back up in place of the concentrated frown creasing his forehead. His father needs him right now, so he's going to do his best to cheer him up.

Pushing the door open, Sabo holds up his drawing proudly. Even if it's not perfect, he's worked hard on this. He's sure his father will appreciate the effort.

"Dad," he exclaims, excited for his reaction, "look at this! I drew it!"

Sabo presents his father with the crude but heartfelt drawing of himself. For a moment his father just stands there, and Sabo begins to worry it isn't good enough. It's only a second though, and soon enough his father takes the drawing and turns it so he can look at it proper. Sabo can feel his grin grow even larger (if that's even possible), but then it falls and it takes everything he is not to tear up and start crying.

Outlook III just stares for a moment, his frustration and exhaustion too much for this unexpected turn of events. When his brain finally processes what he's looking at, he can't even work up the energy to get angry.

A harsh rip tears through the silence, followed by a quiet, noncommittal explanation. "I'm tired from work, Sabo. If you have time to draw a picture like this, than do some more studying in your room."

Sabo does not, in fact, go back to his room to study. Instead, he leaves the house for what must have been the first time months, too worked up and confused to stay, but still not willing to really leave. His eyes are fixed pointedly on the ground, and he can still feel some tears trying to well up and spill over, but he keeps walking, trying to work out what just happened before he tries to really make sense of it.

As he gets farther and farther away from his home, he finds he's not really sorting anything out, though perhaps that's better, clearing his head so he can get at it from a more rational point of view. So he keeps walking.

"Hey, you."

A boy dressed in purple with a redheaded bowl cut has stopped a few steps down the road. His hands are bent back from their firm position on his hips, elbows out, ugly sneer plastered on a face too young to wear such a thing. Sabo doesn't notice, keeps walking, doesn't even look up.

"I'm a child of the royal family. That means I'm related to the king. Carry me home on your back."

He says it like it should mean something, and maybe it does, but Sabo doesn't care, not right now. He keeps walking. He walks right past the other boy, not looking up.

Sabo keeps going, but the other boy can't stand for that. He's probably never been in this situation before. Turning after Sabo, angry now, he shouts, "Wait, you insolent filth."

Sabo is content to ignore him, even with those words, but the other boy runs up and spins him back around anyway, shouting in his ear, "Hey! Are you ignoring an order from royalty?"

Sabo cringes. He's not sure how to react to this, what would be the proper thing to do now, so he goes on instinct and shoves the other boy back with a cry of "What are you doing!"

It doesn't matter that this boy is royalty. Why should it matter? It's not like he's worth any more than Sabo is. So he turns back around and keeps walking, because something like this doesn't matter and he's still worried about earlier. Except the other boy _still_ won't leave him alone, and suddenly he's barely dodging a knife that, while obviously decorative, still looks like it would _hurt_.

* * *

After the fight, the other boy is sporting a few new bruises, spilling tears like waterfalls and generally concerned for his aches and pains. Sabo comes out considerably worse, a nasty cut on his forehead, scrapes and bruises spotted over his visible skin from head toe. But he looks sadly at the ground, upset, understandably, but far from the balling mess the other boy is. His mother is there at least, to path him up and give him comfort and take him home where all he really wants to do is curl up in his bed and sleep off this entire day.

Another woman is fussing over the other boy, but Sabo isn't really paying attention, his thoughts pulled back into his own little head space for the time being. Yeah, he thinks, I just want to go home now.

It's his mother's concerned voice that pulls him back out, and he realizes she's asking about the fight. He answers truthfully, frown deepening. Yes, he did fight the other boy, and yeah, he is really hurt, but it's not his fault that he lost because the other boy had a knife. He tries to explain to her, tell her not to worry because it could have been a lot worse than it was, but he can't, because before he can open his mouth to continue there's a harsh sting in one of his cheeks, and it takes Sabo's brain a second to catch up with reality and process what just happened.

He's staring blindly at the scene in front of him. She slapped him. She slapped him and now she's fretting over that other boy. _Why_? He's her son, he's the one who's hurt, really hurt, but the only thing that seems to matter is the other boy crying his eyes out. Sabo bites his bottom lip. Sabo holds back the tears. Sabo's not so certain of that woman's love anymore.

He doesn't stay longer than he has to. He doesn't fret over what to take and what to leave behind. He just goes. The Grey Terminal is exactly as he remembers all those months ago, and immediately he sets off into the jungle surrounding Mt. Corvo because there's no reason not to. The thought of what might happen no longer frightens him, it's not like there's anyone who'd really miss him anyway.

Angry, hurt, and beyond done, Sabo just walks. He's not really sure where he's going, it's not like he's ever been here before, but it's not like he really cares either. The thoughts he knows are swirling around in his head are too much to deal with at the moment, so he doesn't. He blocks out all those thoughts and doubts and keeps going because it helps and it's not like anything really matters anyway. Not like he ever mattered.

He goes until he can't anymore, and whether it's by some amazing amount of luck or somehow the creatures that should be there don't want to be, he remains unbothered.

Hours later, he's still in the same spot, stomach rumbling, scowl still in place, but there's no movement. He's not over it, not yet. Maybe he never will be. Somehow, he thinks he doesn't want to be.

It's in that position, in that spot, that the first creature to come by in hours is another young boy. Definitely around Sabo's age, though it's hard to tell anything exactly. There's a pipe slung across his back and a mop of wavy black hair falling around his freckled face. Sabo doesn't notice him at first. He knows something's there, definitely, but it doesn't strike him as especially important for him to find out exactly what it is.

"Oi," the boy says, his already hard frown further creasing his forehead. "It's dangerous out here." He doesn't sound concerned, probably isn't, but he's here anyway, talking to Sabo, and by the slightly perplexed look accompanying the scowl, he's as confused by his actions as Sabo is.

When Sabo finally looks up, he doesn't know what he was expecting. Someone young, definitely, but not the hard, jaded eyes that made this boy look far older than he was supposed to be. Those eyes that Sabo realizes he has recently come to reflect.

They just stare at each other for a moment, the other boy not having anything else to say, Sabo just thinking about those eyes.

"My name is Sabo," he finally says.

The other boy's look turns skeptical for a moment, then, "Ace."

An outstretched hand is accepted, and both feel there's been something gained.

* * *

End feels a bit rushed to me, but this did take forever and I'm super lazy in general so this is the best you're getting out of me for now.

I had, like, half of this written in one day, and then school started and it took me a week and a half to do the other half.

The entire time I was writing this though I kept repeating "Noooo, Sabo" in my head over and over. Why do kids so fluffy have to have such sad backstories? T.T

Anyway, this is probably the last you'll be hearing from me for a while again. It probably doesn't help I'm so easily distracted. -_-;


	5. Once a Comfort

Title: Once a Comfort

Summary: Law has trouble sleeping, and in his attempt to get some, thinks on his reasons for living

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of its characters

Note: I should be doing homework right. But you know what, it was worth it.

* * *

Law wakes up suddenly and all at once. It's not a slow, uncomfortable roll or a terrified bolt or a gradual, natural rise for a new day. Rather, one moment he's sleeping and the next he's not. He doesn't move at first, just stares at the ceiling disinterestedly. This, at least, is a common occurrence, something he's used to, something he knows how to deal with. Moving slowly, Law sits up, propping himself up on his hands. He stops there though, looks into the darkness his eyes are only now starting to adjust to, and lies back down. It's probably best if he just lets Bepo sleep.

Settling back into his hammock, Law goes back to staring at the ceiling. He's not going back to sleep, not anytime soon at least. That's alright though. He's found that it helps when there's some sort of noise breaking up that oppressive silence, so even if he'd rather dismember an unfortunate soul before he was caught doing this, Law starts humming. It's quiet, almost too quiet to hear, but it's enough, and instantly a tension he didn't know he had flows out of him.

Absently, he notices it's not a song he recognizes, though it's entirely possible there's no song to recognize. A tuneless noise is much safer than a song after all, less chance of people figuring out where he came from. Not that anyone was likely to know anything from his home town.

The tension is back, following that thought, so Law quickly drops it. It does him no good to remind himself of things like that. But it's too late now, and that first bitter thought opens the gates to a million others.

Law stops humming, not like it would help much at this point anyway. It's silent again, and he closes his eyes like he's going to go back to sleep. The image lasts for a second, shattering in the face of a deep scowl marring Law's young features. The last time it had been this quiet – _a wide, red painted smile_ – it had been snowing. Not exactly an uncommon occurrence in the North Blue, but somehow that fact had always stuck with him. The lines on his face relax. He'd found it weird, the first time he remembered what the weather had been like and how hungry a missed breakfast had made him more than what had actually happened.

Oh well, it was far in the past. There were much more important things to think about now.

Rolling over, Law tries to get comfortable again. Sleep had always been the most important thing to ensure his ability worked properly, but just like usual, it seems to elude him when he actually has the time for it.

He remembers times when it had been easy to fall asleep, quiet nights easy to come by and – _black feathers, molting off a large coat_ – a warm blanket wrapped snuggly around his small body. It's much harder to manage now, but Bepo makes a better pillow than expected. Maybe he should do that now, crawl into Bepo's hammock. It would hardly be the first time, and Bepo wouldn't mind. He never does. Law rolls back to his original position. No, his friend needed his sleep to, and if Law went and bothered him now, there was no doubt he wouldn't be getting it.

It was too quiet again. Law couldn't bring himself to disrupt it. Swallowing thickly, he realizes the pressure steadily building behind his eyes for the first time. Why now? It's been years since he cried, years since he lost that most important thing. He huffs a little, ripping through the silence for less than a second, more than enough to miss it, to revel in the brief respite.

He doesn't let the tears fall, not now, not after so long. It doesn't matter how much they burn behind his eyes, how much it hurts to keep them in, because it's better than letting them blur his sight, trail over his – _white spots, stretching over a pale face_ – cheeks in watery tracks. It's been too long since he's cried anyway. Even with the feel of them building up behind his eyes, begging to take their natural course, the last time he cried was also his first promise. _I will avenge you even if it kills me_.

Somehow, letting his tears spill over now feels a little like breaking it, like there's now something more important than him and what he did for Law. He realizes that doesn't make any sense, just because other things make him sad that has nothing to do with forgetting. Law could never forget him.

That doesn't stop it from happening, and Law has long since been resigned to how irrational emotions can be. He's about to sigh, but the noise gets stuck in his throat before it can interrupt the silence that's built back up. Making noise now, as much as the silence hurts, somehow also feels like a form of betrayal, like by breaking through his room will no longer be as welcoming of that man and those memories of him. The idea of forgetting – _red stains, spreading over white cloth_ – terrifies him more than anything else.

A small, bitter smile stretches across Laws face. As much as it hurts now, to let the silence wrap around him when he knows it couldn't possibly his doing, it helps him remember. Remember all those things he'd rather forget and lock away and never think about again, but _can't_ because it's too important. He's too important, and no matter what Law could never forget how much he owes the man that made no sound.

There will be vengeance, even if it kills him. _Wait for me, Cora-san_.

* * *

So here this is, honestly much sooner than I expected it, but yeah, so hope you liked it. Anyway, gonna go eat breakfast now, even though it's already like 12:30.

I know it's kinda not what the summary (for the whole thing, not just this one in particular) suggests (or says outright really) but I wanna get through character deaths before I start bringin' 'em back.

Oh, by the way, sorry it this is kinda choppy or somethin' most of this was written late late at night when I shoulda been sleepin' so... sorry, I guess.


	6. Something Lost

Title: Something Lost

Summary: Sabo doesn't want to remember. What little he knows of his past fills him with horror, and all he wants to do is build his walls a little higher, a little stronger. And then he picks up the newspaper.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or its characters

Note: For whatever reason, my Sabo fics tend to be longer than the others. Wonder why that is...

* * *

The first thing that comes to mind when he wakes up is how much his head _hurts_. He's pretty sure it's not supposed to do that, but when he tries to figure out how it is supposed to feel all it does is hurt worse. Probably best to drop that then. Next, he tries opening his eyes, but all he gets is a sluggish, muddy response that really doesn't promise anything good. That's a no go then as well. Lying still for a moment, it almost occurs to him that he's probably injured pretty badly, and that the headache and thick as molasses feeling limbs can be chalked up to something like pain killer. Almost in that he still tries to get up anyway.

His hands kind of twitch in an imperceptible way and he thinks his eyelids may have fluttered a little when he tried to open them. Progress, he supposes, comes in baby steps. It is still progress though, and it only encourages him to try harder. Even when his head starts trying to kill him and he can't manage much past what he's already got. Most people would have stopped by now, he thinks absently, but it somehow fails to mean much, considering the thought doesn't come with any explanation as to what "most people" actually means. He deems it unimportant and goes back to being an idiot. Why did he even want to wake up anyway?

Well, there's not really any reason, he thinks, at least not one that comes immediately to mind. He just wants to. Shouldn't that be reason enough?

It takes a while, but the idea of giving up never really occurs to him, and eventually he's able to open his eyes. Except… only one of his eyes is opening and no matter how he approaches that conundrum he can't figure it out, both how to get it open and why it won't open. The light is unexpected though, and he quickly shuts it again to guard against harsh glare. Blinking slowly, he's able to finally keep his eye open comfortably.

"He woke up!" and the first thing he sees is a huge _thing_ right above his face. It's colorful and loud and when his brain catches up to his eyes long after he's already flinched and cried his shock he still can't really believe it's a face.

He's vaguely aware of someone else speaking now, but all his attention is still focused on that purple monstrosity, still way too close for comfort but at least at the end of the bed now, instead of right up in his face. It takes a few deep breaths his lungs aren't quite prepared for before he's able to calm down, but what he comes up with is confusing and just worries him more.

"Uh," he looks around, eyes wide, mouth turned down in a disbelieving frown, "Where am I?" because it most definitely isn't somewhere that he recognizes.

Sitting up with only a bit of difficulty, he takes in his surroundings from a better view point, and though they do seem willing to answer his questions, that does nothing to quell his unease at unfamiliar territory. A man does approach slowly from the side of his bed, sometime later, bending down to show him a square of cloth with neatly printed letters along the edge.

"It says Sabo on your possessions. Is it your name?"

He thinks for a moment, because it does sound kind of familiar, but not in a way that really means something to him. "Sabo," he mutters, testing it on his tongue. Only then does he realize, no, he's not sure if it is his name, but he also can't remember what it is.

Looking up at the sound of a new voice, he sees a man with weird looking markings crisscrossing down the left side of his face. He doesn't devote too much attention to it though. Most importantly, he needs to sort out why he can't remember, and if possible maybe figure out his name. But then the conversation shifts to a possibility that makes his face pale and his blood run cold, and even though he has no idea why he feels this way, he knows he'd rather die before going to back to that place.

He tells them so, and he remains steadfast in his conviction. He will not go back. So they do the only thing they can in such a situation, and they let him stay.

Sabo is sitting in the crow's nest of the ship he's on, taking his turn on lookout duty when he gets the feeling of forgetting something important. It's been some years since he joined the Army, and this isn't the first time he's gotten this feeling. It was natural, he was assured, that some things would seem familiar, that what seemed like nothing would feel nostalgic.

It had never been this strong before.

He's looking out on the sea from fairly high up. He's done this before, but somehow this time feels different. It takes a while, but eventually it occurs to him that in all the years he can remember, he's never looked out onto sunset colored water from the crow's nest before. It's beautiful, he thinks, but it also gives him this strange wistful, longing feeling, building up as a dull pressure in his chest until he thinks maybe there's the sound of a child laughing.

Snapping his head quickly down, trying to pinpoint the source of that noise, both because he knows there are no children on this ship but also because it sounds so _familiar_. Sabo is greeted by the sight of a serious faced little boy, covered in more freckles than it should be able to fit, and an even smaller dark haired boy with a wide grinned stretched across his face. For a while, he can only stare at them, eyes widening and mouth thinning into a tight line.

No. He quickly looks away. There was a slightly surreal feel to them, like they weren't actually there, no matter how real they looked. There edges were kind of blurred, but in his haste, Sabo only notices in passing. Hallucinations, that's all it is. Granted, he's never had one before, but again, it had been among the list of possibilities, especially given the way he'd lost his memory.

Curling his hands into fists, eyes clenching tight, Sabo pretends they aren't there. They're not real, he tells himself, it doesn't matter who they are, they may not even exist at all. It's not important, it's best not to remember, because the last time he felt even close to this strongly about his past he was young and injured and scared out of his mind about what that past held.

Whatever had happened, whoever he used to be, he hadn't been happy, and more than anything, he hadn't been free. So now he shuts out this new development, he makes a mental note to never watch the sunset again because he doesn't want to remember. Remembering means accepting all the things that terrified him, means knowing what those terrifying things are. He's happy now though, he doesn't need to know, so he blocks out the memories and fortifies those walls inside his mind that lock away the dark places. After a while, someone comes up to relieve him, and Sabo forgets the incident.

Seven years later, Sabo is reading the latest newspaper and sees something that catches his attention for a reason that isn't immediately obvious. It's a bounty, is the first thing that really registers, and he can't wrap his head around why he stopped on this one, out of all the others. It's new at the very least, featuring a picture of a freckled young man in an orange cowboy hat. No matter how long he looks at it, Sabo can't shake the feeling that he knows this kid, even though he's pretty sure he's never seen him before in his life.

Soon enough, Sabo skips over and promptly forgets he even looked. It's just a new kid, his bounty isn't even particularly high.

In another two years, Sabo is staring at another wanted poster, and the photo of the ruffed up kid with the huge grin and the old straw hat somehow reminds him of Fire Fist, whose wanted poster is now filed neatly in with that of Whitebeards other commanders. He doesn't know this kid either. He and Fire Fist don't even look all that much alike. So why do though both seem so familiar? A promise he can't quite remember tingles at the back of his mind.

It's only been a few months this time, and the war at Marineford has more or less come to a close. While a bit dramatic (Shanks really did fit with the rumors of his flair for it), the outcome was important to keep up with. Surely, it would affect their operations greatly in the future, besides, it was smart to keep up with current events as much as possible anyways.

Sabo is flipping through the pages, reading as fast as he can because he's curious, but also not curious enough to take any more than the essentials. Suddenly he's stopped over a photo of Fire Fists gruesome death. A young man, hunched over, back to the Den Den Mushi, and an enormous hole punched through his chest. The fist is still there, glowing with heat and Sabo marvels at how the very air has yet to combust.

But it's a fleeting thought, because also on that page is a much better picture of Fire Fist. His wanted poster, printed neatly right next to the war footage, and Sabo nearly doubles over and vomits right there.

It's better not to remember, he tells himself. There was only pain before. _I'm happy now_. Except he can't tear his eyes away from that smirk and wavy black hair. Can't stop those cracks in his walls that suddenly turn to falling slabs because now he _remembers_.

This wasn't just some high powered important player, or an old mistake the World Government was keen on cleaning up, or one of the many sons Whitebeard was known to go to the ends of the ocean for.

This was Ace, his brother. And for the first time in years, Sabo cried.

* * *

Well there you have it. I'll do my best to get into some lighter stuff, but no promises. For whatever reason I can't explain (so don't ask), all my ideas recently have just been angsty even though I legit can't write angst. Well, maybe "can't" is a bit strong, but you get what I mean. But whatever, I'm running out of things I wanted to write about, so if anyone wants to read something in particular without having to write it, I'd be happy to fill out a prompt for them.

Anyway, good night, got stuff to do tomorrow... Actually guess it would be "today" now. Whatever, this is the end, hoped you liked it. Good night.


	7. New World Holidays: Not-Quite-Halloween

Title: New World Holidays: Not-Quite-Halloween Edition

Summary: A combination of unfortunate timing and bad luck land the Heart Pirates on an island the one day they shouldn't have been there.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of its characters

Note: Mm'kay. The dealio with this one is I wanted to do a Halloween fic, except it started out as something that was definitely not this, and then somehow morphed into this the more I wrote. Also, I'm gonna try an' do more holiday fics when they come up if I got any ideas. Also, special thanks to TciddaEmina who looked this over for me. Got me to notice some things I prolly wouldn'ta. Thanks a lot, man, 'preciate it.

* * *

The Polar Tang is docked discreetly on a remote beach, above the water for the first time in what feels like forever. The side of the island they're on is as close to uninhabited as it can get, covered in tall trees and thick undergrowth. There almost isn't a beach to dock at, but it's not like they can slip in at the town's entrance, not with their Smiley painted bold and black against the bright yellow hull.

It's a small island, and after Shachi and Penguin spend far too long complaining to a far too tired Law, their captain finally smacks them both on the head, shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat, and sets off to walk along the coast.

Shachi comes back up, massaging the bump he can feel forming with a wide grin on his face, but Penguin, in his excitement (relief), fist pumps as he jogs to catch up to Law. Bepo can only sigh and wonder at their luck. Had Law been any less dead to world they'd probably have had most of their limbs rearranged and then still been forced to follow Law through the forest. Strangely dejected, Bepo meanders after the trio at his own pace.

For the most part, the island is pretty mellow, especially for the New World. Granted, it's never a good idea to assume anything is as it seems on the Grand Line, but the town they'd seen coming in was little more than cozy looking houses, a few shops, plots for crops, and a rather impressive church at the end of the central street. The only thing that stood out in any capacity (except maybe how abnormally normal it all was) was the forest Penguin and Shachi had convinced Law to bypass.

Shambling his way toward the only town that seemed to be on this island, Law mentally curses his two crewmates' endless energy. Oh well, at least Bepo was always reliable, there even now, pulling ahead of the far too cheerful duo to provide a steadying wall when he thought he might trip over the ground.

They split up once they actually got there, Shachi and Penguin to get supplies and Bepo to find a place to sleep. Law's not really sure why he's there. He's tired beyond all belief and at this point can't even remember what he usually does when he leaves the submarine. He enters the town like a drunken man, just managing not to trip over his own feet, but kind of swaying from side to side and tipping more and more forward with every step. Damn, how long has it even been since he's slept?

Law gets to the point where he will definitely end up on his face if he doesn't get some support _now,_ so he falls in toward the wall of a house with his next step and just stays there for a moment. His eyes droop closed and he lays his cheek against cool brick. If he's not careful he'll fall asleep right here.

His eyes snap open at the soft sound of scuffling feet. Halfway across the street is a woman, dark hair covered by a darker hood. She looks young, Law thinks absently, and it's just a sleep deprived observation that somehow seems more important now than it ever could if he were even marginally more coherent. He's mind is still suck under a thick haze and he can't think very clearly, so it takes him a moment to realize that this is the first person he's seen since entering the town. Huh, he wonders how he didn't notice that sooner.

Upon further inspection, the small woman is tense, straight backed and clutching something in the hands folded in front of her so tightly her knuckles turn white. She does her best to look him in the eyes, but her mouth is pressed into a hard line and her eyes keep flicking between his and the ground every few seconds. Law is both relieved and suspicious, but he doesn't question her presence as much as he normally would. Man, he must really be out of it. All the more reason to find an inn or something. The Polar Tang was nice and all, but nothing quite beat the feel of a real bed.

Looking down at her with as much of his pitiful focus as he can manage, he realizes he must not look all that friendly. Just as he starts his attempt to look like someone people would actually want to talk to, he also realizes he's _not_ very friendly, and way too tired to even give a damn.

Straightening up off the wall, he raises an eyebrow, silently questioning her intentions. Probably has something to do with whatever's in her hands. He should probably be careful, but honestly, even that sounds like more effort than it's worth. Law groans softly. As soon as they got a place to stay he was turning Penguin and Shachi into Penchi and kidnapping Bepo.

Suddenly, the woman thrusts her clenched hands out in front of her, revealing a rosary wound tightly around her fingers. There was now a determined glint in her eyes, hardening them and giving them the strength and resolve to finally hold his waning attention. She's chanting now, using words that maybe sound like some of the ones in his medical books but not really. Her tone is low and monotonous, if a bit intense, and whatever she's hoping to achieve, Law's pretty sure it's not to put him to sleep.

Whatever the desired effect is, all it does is cause Law's eyes to droop again, thickening the fog already encasing his mind. Without the wall to lean on, Law's whole body lurches forward and he passes out in the middle of the street.

* * *

The day before, the town had been bursting with life. There were people everywhere, some rounding up livestock, mostly sheep and pig, but one cow as well, some inside, the chimneys on many of the houses billowing black smoke, but the majority hauling wood, adding logs and kindling alike to an already massive fire pit. Unfortunately, the harvest hadn't been as plentiful as in the past. This year's offering would be smaller than usual, and the inhabitants of the town could only hope it would be enough.

As the sun set and the clock mounted into the top of the church began to approach midnight, everyone, big and small, old and young, had gathered around the fire pit, each carrying some part of the offering. An elderly man approached from the church, walking slowly and calmly down the street, only a hand holding an already burning torch was visible beneath the folds of an elaborate robe. The deep lines on his face only seemed to crease more the closer he got, pulling into his nose and betraying the intense concern he had hid so well all day.

Eventually, he reached his place in the circle, and as the clock struck twelve, the massive pile of flammable items went up, lighting the sky as bright as day and casting looming shadows out of the circle. As one, the townspeople stepped up to the bonfire, placing each offering into the flame as carefully as possible.

That night, after the serious faced villagers had turned in, only able to hope their best had been enough, a young girl, clad in similar robes to that of the old man stood in front of the church, preparing to complete her own part in the ceremony. Hands clasped together around a delicate rosary, she began her vigil, patrolling the town on this unholy day to ward away stray, or if their fears played out, unhappy beasts.

Normally, this wouldn't be necessary. She had never had to actively oversee anything other than the strengthening of the wards that surrounded the town. Effective though they might be, it was always better safe than sorry, especially on the day the forest grew restless. So despite the late hour, she wandered every nook and cranny of her beloved town, sharp eyes searching for any disturbances in the still night.

To be honest, after the sun had risen with no sign of unwanted visitors, she had begun to relax, believing that the new day would help to scare off anything that might come by. The night was _their_ time, after all, and as the sun colored the horizon a mix of orange and pink, she had believed the worst to be over. Oh how wrong she was.

It was around noon when they appeared, four beasts of the forest arriving to seek revenge for their less than satisfactory offering. She had been unsure at first, after all, three of them had looked human, and they'd come from _around_ the forest, rather than from within it, but for all she wanted to believe there was no danger, there were several irrefutable facts she could not shake.

Even if they hadn't come directly out of the forest, they had still come from the direction of the forest, and nothing but the damned and abandoned could exist on that half of the island. The tall one in the fuzzy spotted hat had been the second clue. Sure, he looked human, but the piercing golden coloring of his dark ringed eyes was what gave him away. No human had eyes like that, of this she was certain. The last, and perhaps most incriminating evidence to their true nature was the fourth member of their party. It was a bear, obviously, but not only was it white (because everyone knew bears were brown), it also walked on two legs and seemed to speak to the tall, spotted one.

Whatever they were, they weren't human, and she had to get them out of her village as quickly as possible.

When the two with shaded eyes had separated from the other two, and the bear, after a few words with the spotted one, had gone in its own direction, she had waited as long as she dared to see what the spotted one would do. He was weaker than the others, she realized, maybe not normally, but for some reason his movements seemed sluggish and uncoordinated, and as she watched he fell into the wall of the bakery on his last step and stayed there.

Okay. She wasn't strong. She knew that, but she was the only priestess on the island, and therefore the only one even remotely prepared to deal with situations like this. Hiding on the other side of the street, she'd waited a few more moments to make sure he wasn't just bluffing her and the others wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. As much as she hated letting any of them out of her sight, she'd have a better chance of dealing with all of them if she could thin their numbers first.

Approaching as close as she dared, she jerked to a sudden halt when the spotted one snapped back to awareness, those golden eyes catching hers and piercing right into her very soul. She was frozen, mesmerized. She had to look away or those eyes would suck her in and she knew she'd never escape.

From the brief amounts of time her eyes were on him, he swayed almost imperceptibly, off balanced and unfocused. Hardening her resolve, she convinced herself if she couldn't even handle this she would fail her people. He was the weak link, the exhausted and unprepared one and if she didn't act now, before the others came back, these four would ruin not only her but her village as well.

Bringing her rosary up, she finally met his gaze steadily and began to recite a chant long past down from the clergy of old, meant to banish the evil of the forest back to itself. As she continued, the spotted one swayed more noticeably, until finally his eyes fell shut and he tipped forward onto the ground.

She stares in disbelief now. Had she really done it? For all her resolve she hadn't actually expected it to work. Her victory is short lived though. Almost as if sensing the fate of its companion, the white bear appears before her, eyes glued to the fallen spotted man, waddling over to him on legs too short to allow a comfortable bipedal stride.

It hasn't noticed her yet, she thinks, hopes, and she prepares to perform the incantation again while it's distracted when the bear effortlessly shrugs the spotted one onto its back only to shift its bottomless black eyes onto her. She freezes again, unable to move. His eyes had seemed to stare straight into her soul, but these. These seem to suck her soul _out_ , and there's nothing she can do.

The bear doesn't say anything, and she's sure this is her end. But then it turns away and settles down in the middle of the street, lying down in a more bear-like fashion than it had exhibited in the entire time she's seen it, placing the spotted one against its side. The relief is more than she can handle, and the last thought she has before hitting the ground is if anything that just happened is real.

* * *

Shachi and Penguin end up back in the middle of the street not long after. Shachi can only be completely and utterly stunned at how powerful Law's trouble magnet is. He and Penguin were gone for, what, ten minutes? And they come back to their captain passed out on Bepo (admittedly not that strange, but still) with some girl they'd never seen before likewise passed out a few more feet down the road.

Unfortunately, they hadn't been able to get what they'd come here for, and after they'd been through what had to be the whole town without spotting a single person, they'd decided it would faster and safer to get back to Law. How this happened, Shachi didn't even want to begin thinking about, but penguin is already poking Bepo in the shoulder, bending in a way that should have been painful in order to look him in the eyes.

"Hey Bepo," Penguin asks, "What's going on?"

The polar bear slowly opens his eyes, blinking up at Penguin with a laziness that suggests he had actually fallen asleep in the time he was lying down.

"I couldn't find anyone," he responds at length, "so I came back to make sure Captain was okay." Glancing over to the girl, he eventually tacks on, "Found her like that," before he picks up Law again, careful not to jostle him, and pulls himself back up onto two feet.

They're just about ready to head back to the Polar Tang and get Law into his hammock when the door on one of the buildings opens. Out comes an elderly man, dressed in clothing similar to that of the girl. He looks like he wants to say something, so they stop. And they wait. And nothing happens. Shachi is ready to snap and just demand to know what he wants, but he finally, finally speaks up.

"Oh beasts of the forest," he begins, and Shachi is struck speechless. Penguin is struggling to hold in his giggles. Bepo just looks confused. "Please accept our humble sacrifice of a virgin priestess. May this make up for the less than plentiful offerings at the midnight ceremony."

His expression looks tight, like he doesn't really want to be doing this but feels he has no choice. Shachi has no idea how to handle this. If he were Law, he'd probably already be correcting the old man as bluntly as possible, but he's not Law, and for some reason he finds he doesn't have the heart to ruin the moment, even if it is a rather heartbreaking one.

Shachi glances at Penguin and Bepo for help, but penguin is pulling the bill of his hat even lower, still trying to cover his giggles, and Bepo looks so confused and unsure Shachi thinks asking him might make him burst into tears. Well, looks like he's on his own. Dammit.

He honestly has no idea what to do with this, so he just kind of goes with the situation and cautiously backs up to the young woman. Picking her up gently, he motions for the other two to follow him, and together the four plus one head back to the Polar Tang.

Shachi has a feeling things are not going to be pretty when the new girl wakes up. He feels guilty for all of five seconds before Penguin excitedly mentions having a new playmate, and then they're both tugging at Bepo so he'll hurry up.

* * *

So there's that. Hope y'all liked it. Somehow, it still seems rushed to me, even though I can't think of anything else to add to it. Ah well, tell me watcha thought, 'kay.


End file.
